


Five Times Will Needed Help (And One Time He Asked For It)

by TheDeviantSentByJericho



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, :3, Angst, Dissociation, Five And One, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Blaming Halt O'Carrick, Self-Blaming Will Treaty, Self-Harm, Trauma, Whump, Will Treaty Has PTSD, five and one fic, just a bit, kinda???, post-Skandia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28985364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeviantSentByJericho/pseuds/TheDeviantSentByJericho
Summary: will isn't doing so great
Relationships: Halt O'Carrick & Will Treaty, Horace Altman & Will Treaty
Comments: 18
Kudos: 36





	1. Nightmare

It was cold.

Ice floated in on the wind and crunched under his feet, which ached underneath a layer of numbness. Vaguely he was aware that his body was probably being damaged permanently, but he was too busy fighting to survive in the haze that filled his mind. The past was blank, the future unreadable and distant. He'd never make it. 

One foot forward, then the other.

Forget the pain, forget the struggle.

 _You won't survive,_ his brain told him. _It's your fault._

If he had been stronger, smarter, faster, _better_ , this wouldn't be happening. 

_Halt would be better than this,_ he told himself. _Halt would be disappointed._

He wasn't sure who Halt was anymore, not really. It was just another aspect that had vanished into the fog that was his past. 

He just knew that Halt was important. 

Everything else was faded, blank. Had Halt ever existed? Had Will ever existed? Had he been born in the yard, snowflakes and icicles and beatings and desperation all making up his blanket?

He stumbled, fell.

It was cold.

* * *

Will bolted upright. 

The blanket had fallen off of him sometime in his nightmare, cold air rushed against his skin, vibrantly alive against him. Ironic, wasn't it? Wind felt more alive than he did.

 _It was just a dream_ , he tried to remind himself, but it was pointless. He knew it wasn't.

Frozen air couldn't compete with his frozen thoughts, but it felt grounding, almost. He lay back against the covers, then sighed, stood, began to make the bed.

He wasn't going to sleep again.


	2. Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/VDA04YOAd4c <\- theme for this will. you're welcome.

Will pretended to be asleep when Halt came to wake him up. He was good at that, by now. 

Chores went by easy. Or maybe that was just him, lost in a numb fog that would probably get him in trouble, but Will didn't care. He couldn't.

He didn't want to.

Numbness was warm. Safe. Reality was cold.

Reality hurt him. He wanted no part of it. Not anymore.

Halt was watching him worriedly. Will didn't have the will to care.

Ha. Accurate turn of phrase. 

Will was gone. Had been gone for a while. All that was left was a worthless, empty shell.

Training time. Real training, with bows. 

Mind fog made his movements slow, far too slow. He hated himself for it. 

Not waiting for Halt's criticism that he _knew_ was coming, Will grabbed the arrows, tried again, forcing himself to go faster, faster, pretend to be normal, pretend to be okay, pretend to be capable.

All his shots were off. Few even hit the targets. The last arrow skittered sideways, almost hitting Halt.

Tears welled up in Will's eyes. Why was he like this? Always messing up. Broken.

Why was he crying? He didn't feel anything. There was nothing to cry about.

He'd sunk to the ground at some point. He didn't remember that. Halt was next to him, hand on his shoulder, saying something that was supposed to be comforting, but Will couldn't hear any of it.

He had to do better. No matter what it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this entire chapter during a moderate dissociative episode if it makes so damn sense that's why  
> please point out typos


	3. Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here be self-blame and self-invalidation 
> 
> with an unhealthy serving of internalized ableism, for flavour

Winter was coming.

He couldn't deny it any longer. Almost a year had passed since Skandia, the chill in the air was intensifying, leaving the grass frozen and stiff, and Will only felt worse.

The moment he'd gotten home everything had hit him all at once, and it felt to him like he hadn't gotten any better. He was barely scraping by! Everyone kept smiling, caring, trying, and Will tried to seem energetic, resilient, _better_. But he was drowning. 

Everything that happened to him, it seemed so distant, so far away, and yet consumed every moment of his existence, waking and sleeping. Crowley and Halt and Gilan and Horace and even _Alyss_ , fair Alyss, had told him that it wasn't his fault, that he had done the best he could, that he had survived, that they were _proud_ of him. For making it out.

But sometimes, Will didn't feel like he'd made it out at all.

He'd died in the slave yards, died again and again, and now all that was left of him was some kind of shell. He'd died in the cold, he'd died in the snow, he'd died with warmweed on his tongue and whip scars across his back. And that was just what he _remembered_.

How dare he even call himself a trauma survivor? How dare he try and move on? How dare he try and forgive himself? He couldn't even _remember_ most of it. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

Maybe he'd just been making it up the whole time.

Made it up as an excuse for his failures, for his weakness, for his addiction and triggers and neediness. 

Maybe he'd-

"Will, are you alright?"

Halt was calling. How long had he been talking to him? 

His mentor's voice was gentler than usual, more compassionate- he'd been like this since they'd found each other, especially in private. Will felt wrong for that. Especially since he appreciated it. He wasn't glass, he was supposed to be a Ranger apprentice! He was supposed to be able to manage!

"I'm fine," he said. "Sorry."

Halt watched Will throughout breakfast, but the boy stayed quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> halfway done y'all


	4. Flashback

_Stupid stupid stupid stupid!_ Will scolded himself. Stupid mistake, stupid weakness.

He'd gone out to get water from the river. Halt had taken a glance outside, at the darkening snow clouds on the horizon, and subtly offered Will an out, but he refused to take it. He had to deal with these things! He _had_ to manage. And anyway, he'd been getting a lot better! Nightmares and flashbacks and anxiety attacks had been near non-stop after he made it home. Now he was fine. 

Mostly.

Not fine enough to weather it when the weather turned and snow started to fall. 

The first flakes were fine.

He didn't like the cold, had never liked it, felt sick trying to move through it, but it was fine, he was fine. He could do it. He could make it back.

Probably.

The wind picked up, bursting around him, whipping his cloak out behind him, loosing his hair from his hood. Ice caught in every crevice. Will put down the bucket, trying to get himself situated so he could make it home, he just had to make it home, he could see it, not so far not so far not so far...

A particularily strong gust lifted the snowflakes, gathered them up, and shoved them directly into Will's face. He froze.

He shouldn't have put down the bucket. Any second now they'd see, come after him, punish him for his lapse. Screams and grunts of the other slaves and the shouts of their tormentor's filled his ears. Snow stung his tattered feet, just enough feeling left to make them ache. The pain in his muscles could barely keep him moving. 

He was exhausted.

So exhausted.

But fear outweighed the tiredness, and he pressed on.

Will stumbled, almost faceplanting in the snow, the flashback fleeing as quickly as it had gripped him. Heart racing, he picked up the bucket and made it home.

As soon as he was behind the door, he brushed Halt off and retreated to his room, where the panic attack hit him full force.

_My fault my fault my fault-_


End file.
